Drinking Games
by ninamonkey
Summary: Tony drinks too much, Bruce worries about him. *Note: Serious trigger warnings alcoholism, codependency .* Bruce/Tony prompt from thescienceboyfriends on tumblr.


His control lately was tenuous, at best. The beast itched and clawed beneath the surface, teasing the memory of times past, and he had to plead_ no, it's not the same; it's different, he's not HIM, it's not us_ while shoving the monster back in the cage.

But it was getting harder. Much harder.

Bruce slammed the book shut and threw his glasses across the nightstand as the beginning of another cluster headache throbbed below his temple. He didn't want to glance at the clock but he did anyway, and hated that it was still 2:32 in the goddamn morning and goddamn it, Tony—

_No, no, no, no…breathe. Breathe. Slowly. Slowly._

_Stop._

Swallowing back the green haze, Bruce slid into the bed sheets and rolled on his side, hoping he wasn't becoming his own fucking mother on top of everything else _hell_, no. But he could worry, right? Shouldn't he worry—? When it first got ugly he should've spoken to Pepper, but they'd been treading lightly in each others' circles, afraid of upsetting the other. Which was ridiculous, really. They were adults. Tony and Pepper had an amicable break and neither blamed the other. He and Tony had begun with science, then other emotions entered the picture, and then….so.

Pepper had been okay with them. Mostly.

He and Pepper wanted the same thing - they wanted what was best for Tony - but Bruce felt the onus on his shoulders because he hid this from her. Or hell, maybe she was at fault; she knew the signs, but maybe Tony's personal life was _Bruce's_ problem now and she didn't give a good damn anymore. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion Pepper was glad to foist this portion of her job/life onto someone else - green rage 'roid monster, or no.

He winced. He shouldn't have hid it. Shouldn't have let it go. Shouldn't have fixed it so it seemed the same as always. Tony drank at parties, celebrations, when he was in the mood, and he still kept pace with the team, with his duties, with his experiments.

He had been "functional."

Until.

Bruce shuddered.

Bruce had ignored the sine curves. Covered them while Tony slept it off, missed meetings, or outright missed battles. Fury looked to Bruce, now, to see if Iron Man would be "available." People stopped trusting Tony to show; they expected Bruce to carry the slack.

Hold Tony's head while he puked.

Ignore the slurring and listing.

Roll him so he didn't aspirate in his sleep.

"Fuck," Bruce whispered, and he squeezed his eyes. No, he refused to cry. The Big Guy would love that. But goddamn it. He'd become his mother overnight and he hated it.

***

When morning came JARVIS woke him with the time and temperature and brief news reports. Bruce startled as the bed moved, realizing Tony somehow snuck into their bedroom in the middle of the night and he somehow missed it.

"Hey, Ban-ban," Tony said, finding yet another not-so-endearing nickname, something between Bruce's name and a character from the Flintstones. Tony's grin was as fake as the deep kiss he planted on Bruce's lips; a kiss tasting of day-old whiskey and vomit. Tony did a dance and headed for the bathroom and didn't try to catch Bruce's frustrated glare. "Gonna take a quick piss then jet. Got a meeting in a few."

The bathroom door slammed, bringing a coda to their conversation, and Bruce didn't bother asking himself what the hell happened because it had become too common of a morning dance. So. Enough was enough.

Sighing, Bruce rolled from the bed and pushed to his feet, feeling every bit of his 40-plus years. His breaths were steady and calm and purposeful, but by no means perfect as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, however, because he wanted to hide - not because he wanted to see. One of them had to be brave enough. He hoped he would be brave enough.

He crossed his arms and leaned against bathroom jamb. "Tony."

"That's my name," Tony said, but the door remained closed and Bruce heard him turn on the tap.

"Open the door. I want to talk to you."

It took a few seconds, but Tony opened the door without looking at him. The other man jammed a toothbrush in his mouth and gave Bruce a cursory glance through the medicine cabinet mirror. "Question, oh love of my life and partner in crime?"

Bruce stared at their reflections in the mirror, and said nothing until Tony finally met his serious gaze. Bruce got a look at him - a really good look - and caught the flushed cheeks and aging, horrified eyes of a man caught in something he couldn't control. It showed a man scared and running, running. But not stopping. Maybe couldn't stop. Bruce hoped he could slow Tony down but ultimately it would be Tony's choice.

"What," Tony growled when Bruce remained mute. The toothbrush stayed in limbo in Tony's mouth while Bruce entered the large bathroom. There was plenty of room for both of them and both had dual sinks, but right now the area felt far too cramped. Bruce nodded and felt Tony's eyes follow him as he pulled out the third drawer on Tony's sink. They both saw the bottle, glistening with amber liquid, sloshing back and forth like a wave in a storm. Bruce looked up first. Tony stared at the bottle, swallowing.

"Hey, look at that, Bruce," Tony muttered. His half-smile was on the sick side. "They make Glenfiddich mouthwash now."

"Don't."

Tony caught Bruce's sharp tone and challenged what Bruce knew to be the green tinge in his eyes. Tony slowly closed the drawer and spat the toothpaste in his sink. "You don't need to mother hen me."

"I won't. I'll tell you what you need to do, and what will happen if you ignore me."

Tony's lip came up in a sneer. "Or you'll go green on my ass?"

Bruce shook his head and smiled sadly. He stroked Tony's chin and removed a few flakes of toothpaste. "You need help," he told him quietly. "And I'm not strong enough to stop you. If you don't stop drinking, if you refuse to, I won't stick around and watch you kill yourself. I've been there, Tones. I know what it's like."

Bruce wasn't strong enough to look in Tony's eyes quite yet, but he already knew what he'd see in them: Rage, horror, sadness, fear. Similar to his own feelings, hidden down in his heart. "But if you want to quit, I'll go the distance with you. I'll…go to meetings with you. I'll learn how to help you. But you have to want it. I won't be your damsel in distress." _Not ever._

He finally looked up when Tony placed a trembling hand on Bruce's shoulder. It floored Bruce; he expected a physical fight. He expected a shouting match. He expected pain, and rage, and epic pain as he morphed into an otherworldly being and Tony put on the suit. He didn't expect…

The other man's lashes were wet and desperation flooded his expression. "I…I can't…I don't—" His voice hitched. "Goddamnit, I'm _drowning_ Bruce. I'm—"

Bruce grabbed Tony in a fierce hug as the man collapsed against him, suddenly sobbing. He pulled Tony over to the bed and hugged him and rocked him; Tony fisted Bruce's back and soaked his shirt and spoke a litany of apologies and verses and curses against himself and no one.

"We'll get through this," Bruce whispered in Tony's ear. No way would he let Pepper know, though. No one at Stark Industries needed to know. SHIELD…would help. Fury, maybe. Spies kept secrets close to their chest.

And as Tony cried it out Bruce felt they would. He didn't expect miracles and he expected falls along the way, but…at least they'd had a breakthrough that didn't cause him to Hulk out.

Maybe that was the best breakthrough of all.


End file.
